


Wonderwall

by vincen0ir



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer
Genre: Alternative Universe - University, M/M, Multi, University AU, and Ashton likes talking a lot, basically Michael is a hermit and Luke is a dork, i mean michael jerks off in the first proper chapter so
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-03 00:51:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1725143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vincen0ir/pseuds/vincen0ir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Calum's a persuasive shit, and Luke will do anything for his best friend. </p><p>(Or, the one where Michael doesn't leave his room -- ever -- and Luke is in the wrong place at the wrong time. A lot.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Une.

"Dude, you should come live with me! It'll be amazing!"

Luke isn't quite sure if Calum is serious or not. A beer is sweating in his hand, tiny droplets of cool water running over his pale skin before he glances up at his best friend with wide blue eyes that tend to encompass an entire spectrum of concealed emotion in one foul swoop. Right now, his deep hues convey confusion and vague excitement, but mostly they exhibit the glassy blankness that often hangs around as a side effect of the alcohol he's been pouring down his throat.

"Are you sure?" His voice trembles anxiously as he voices his question, endless doubts lacing tightly into his words. Calum arches an eyebrow, a bright grin curled onto his lips as he raises his own beer to his lips, taking a swig off it before slamming it back down on the table.

"Lucas Robert Hemmings, you're 19 and you live in your parents' garage. Ash said that if I knew anyone that needed a room, I could invite them in. Don't say no." Ashton is Calum's landlord -- Luke's met him a few times. He's 21 and he's majoring in English. Luke's heard the way he talks and he's read some of the stuff Ashton's wrote and it blows his teenage mind. It's poetic and dark, dramatic meanings curled up into beautiful vines of lyrical verse that Luke wants to ink into his skin. He told Ashton that once, and the older male just laughed and promised to write Luke something that he could have tattooed onto his ribcage. 

"I don't want to be a bother, Cal. Plus, I swear that you told me that Ash has someone else moving in." 

"His place is a four-bedroom, Lukey! Four of us, it'll be fuckin' perfect!" Calum's words are starting to slur into each other and it's causing little bursts of giggles to pour through Luke's pierced lips. He's still hesitant to accept his best friend's offer -- Luke is very particular about his space. He's never shared a room with anyone, not even when he was younger. It's the idea of sleeping next to someone that gets to him -- it's such an intimate gesture, locking you in and securing you between sleep-rumpled sheets. It's the warmth of someone else's skin that has his own crawling. Luke just can't handle the idea of being that close to someone. 

"You're seriously one of the most persuasive people I've ever met." It's true -- everyone that's met Calum knows how persuasive he is. It's usually his wide-eyed chocolate gaze that melts people's knees and forces them to agree with him. Luke's fallen victim to the puppy-dog eyes a few times, but he's learned to toughen up.

"Please, Lukey?" There's a dramatic pout on Calum's part and after 2 minutes of silence, he finally nods his agreement to Calum's plight. For the rest of the night, he tells Luke all about Ashton -- what really gets his mind working is how Calum never says anything about Ashton's friend, who's supposedly moving in only a week before Luke is. 

An uneasy feeling settles into his stomach, but he washes it away with the taste of Heineken. For a moment, he's tempted to turn his back on the deal, but it's set in stone. In exactly one month, Luke Hemmings will leave home and there is nothing he can do about it.

**

Luke hadn't realized how much stuff he had until it was packed up in 15 medium-sized boxes, each individually marked with Luke's spidery curling writing. Saying goodbye to his mother was hardest; Liz has a penchant for getting teary-eyed when it comes to her son. As it happens, there seemed to be a never-ending onslaught of tears as she pulls him into a tight hug.

"You can do anything as long as you set your heart to it." She whispers the words into his ear and Luke can't find any reason not to love his mother right now. She's been supportive of him ever since he picked up a guitar and leaving her is breaking him inside but he knows it'll be an experience. (Plus, he certainly wasn't going to get laid if he continued living with her. He doesn't plan on getting laid anyway, but if he eventually does then it'll take a load off his mind, knowing that his mum isn't listening.)

"I'm just a phone call away, Mum." It's times like this where the Luke that she's clutching in her arms fades away into a baby again, toddling round and grinning a bright, toothless smile. She's watched him grow, she's watched his heart break. She's watched him mend his own heart, and no matter what happens, he will always be her little baby boy.

"I love you, baby. I'll always be right here for you, okay?" Liz is reluctant to let go but when she feels Luke's arms slacken, she lets her own fall to her sides, tears streaking down her face. 

"I know, Mum. I love you too, okay? I promise not to do anything stupid." It's those words that really get Liz -- she finally realizes that this is her baby boy, and she's letting him out into the wild, open world with dark influences that lurk in every shadow. It brings a shiver to her spine and she's tempted to retrieve the boxes from Calum's car and toss them inside. She wants to drag Luke back into the safe embrace of their old house, and never let him go.

Luke is fairly tempted to run back through the front door when he watches his mother retreat inside, and his heart breaks a little when he can hear the sobs that pound through the door. There's a heaviness to his heart as he slides into the passenger seat, and once Calum's slowly reversing out onto the road, Luke lets the pent-up tears slide down his cheek. He's a fairly silent cryer, and he's never been more thankful for it. His blank gaze is directed at the scenery that whizzes by, blurred with the salty droplets that refuse to stop falling. Every so often, Calum will look over and a stab of guilt digs it's way into his chest -- it's his fault that Luke is leaving, and it's his fault that Liz is curled against the front door, sobbing her eyes out like she's just been told that her son is dead. 

By the time he pulls into the driveway, Luke's eyes are clear, and the vaguest ghost of a smile is littering his lips. He's full-on grinning by the time he's lifting boxes from the back of Calum's beat-up old Ute, and it was like he'd never cried at all.

**

It's love at first sight when he walks into the house. It feels like home already, seeping into his bones and filling his veins with a homey, familiar feeling that he longed for. Ashton is sitting at the table, poring over a book when they burst through the front door.

"Finally, the enigma arrives! Hey, buddy." Ashton's smile is as wide as ever, and dimples punch his cheeks as he pulls the younger male into a tight hug. He raises a hand to ruffle Luke's blonde locks before stepping back, arms waving dramatically at the house. Luke's eyes follow his hands, gazing fondly at everything that falls into his line of vision.

"So, how d'ya like it?" A hopeful smile is perched upon Ashton's lips and goddammit, the dimples are still embedded in his cheeks as he tucks his thumbs through his belt loops. "I mean, it's not much but it's home. You'll love it, I swear." He's just so optimistic, Luke can't help but grin along with him.

"It's perfect. Wait, um, Ash? Calum said that someone else was living here too. Um, what's he like?" When Luke asks about the mysterious fourth resident, a fleeting expression of doubt zips across Ashton's features. He can see an unsteady smile quirk his lips before he shakes his head, taking his place at the table again. 

"Mikey? Yeah, he's cool." That's it -- the discussion is closed, and when Calum nudges Luke in the ribs as he passes, he gets the feeling that maybe he shouldn't ask any more. He just shrugs his shoulders, ditching his flannel shirt before heading out to grab another box, and bit by bit, his life is transferred neatly into a large, blank room.

**

The first actual night at the house is pretty weird. To celebrate Luke's first night of freedom, Calum and Ashton take him out to a Chinese place. On the way there, all Ashton can do is talk, and Calum can't help but laugh. Luke's in the back seat on his phone, a smirk curving up his pierced lips as he listens along the conversation and the chatter that bubbles from the front seat. He knows he should text his mum and tell her that he's doing fine but there's something in him that realizes that she knows that. Both Luke and Liz know he's in safe hands.

When Ashton swerves to avoid a pedestrian, Luke's not quite so sure about that.

"Fucking hell, Ash! You nearly killed that poor dude!" Cal is screeching, eyes wide as he glances out the window. Luke looks too -- the poor bloke looks like he's seen a ghost. Ashton is a mess of giggles, biting his lip to try and hide them but he's just too excitable. They start pouring from his lips and soon enough, all three are nearly pissing themselves with laughter that just can't be bottled up. This, Luke thinks as he clutches at his stomach, chest heaving as he chokes down air. This is what I signed up for.

Ashton finally pulls into a parking slot and they all tumble out, immediately swallowed down by the bright lights that shine down on them. Apparently Calum booked a table -- Luke hasn't booked anything besides his haircuts since he was 10. Even then, it was always his mother that handled that stuff.

"So, Luke. First night on the town, huh? Thoughts?" Ashton leans forward, one eyebrow cocked as he slurps at a Coke -- he's the designated driver, and he's vowed off alcohol for the night. (He knows that as soon as they're home, Ashton will crack out the booze and Luke will wake up with a pounding headache and a desperate need for water.) A mysterious smile lights up his own lips as he shrugs his shoulders, chewing at his already-beaten lip.

"Is there always that many uni students?" He jerks his head at a nearly-endless line of bored-looking kids just like himself, queuing up for their takeaway order. Ashton hoots with laughter, and Calum's eyes widen to the size of saucers.

"Jesus, Lukey. We're in Chinatown, there's always gonna be uni students. It's a common fact that we can only survive on Chinese." Luke doesn't bother arguing with this fact, instead he just nods and clinks his bottle against Calum's. All three toast to the start of a life without the 'ball and chain', as Luke so adequately quips. Ashton nearly falls off his chair when he mentions that.

**

When he gets home, Luke just falls into bed. He hefts his laptop up onto his lap, and he nearly cries when he realizes that he can watch porn, jerk off and not have to bother about being quiet. (Calum reassured him of that when they were driving home.) It doesn't take him long until a light sheen of sweat has covered his forehead, he's letting soft moans drift from his lips and his hips are arching up into his fist. He barely has enough time to clean himself off after he comes before he's falling asleep.

Sometime in the early hours of the morning, he's woken by a loud banging noise -- the front door. Light trickles under his doorstep and he sees dark footsteps tread by, then he hears Ashton's voice in sonorous tones.

"Shit, Mike, Luke's asleep."

This time, a new voice emerges. "Wait, who?"

"Calum's friend. He lives here now, remember?"

"I swear to fucking god, I can't remember you telling me about this."

"Mikey, you were drunk as hell. You couldn't remember your own name if someone asked you." (Luke has to avoid a snort there.)

"Shut the fuck up, Irwin." Luke's eyes are fluttering shut now, and he's not even conscious enough to hear Ashton describe his as 'hot' and 'definitely your type'. He's not awake to hear the moaning, the obscene curses muttered under steaming breath. 

He doesn't even get a glimpse of Mikey for three weeks.


	2. Deux.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke never expected to meet his third roommate like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally wrote this all up in one night have mercy on my writing skills

It's so impossibly easy to lose yourself in the city lights. They swallow you whole, they drink you down. They slip you onto their dangerous, laced tongue like you're another piece of blotter paper that's going to induce visions of purple dragons dancing in plumes of fire. City lights, toxic and bright, they'll consume you one way or another. They burn holes through your retinas, they wrap fluorescent fingertips round your neck and choke, choke, choke.

It's on nights like this that Luke feels choked.

Alcohol's got a pretty firm grip on him, controlling the jerky movements of his arms and legs. Every so often, giddy giggles will float from his lips. The bar's never been more attractive, a mess of pulsing neon lights and thumping bass, the chatter of the crowd fading away into a soft, relaxing hum as Luke loses himself in the sea of bodies around him. Everything's beautiful, a blissful, chaotic mess of light-headed intoxication that leaves him vaguely breathless. It's all very calm until a shaking fist collides with his nose.

Everything kind of stops for a moment. Luke isn't sure whether his nose is broken but the guy who punched him keeps giving him dirty looks and god, Luke's fucking clueless as to why. Even through his swaying drunken state, he feels the inevitable pain that comes with being punched in the side of the nose and all he can do is yell a loud and none-too-dignified 'fuck you' before stumbling out of the bar, clutching at his nose.

It isn't until he pulls his hands away that he realizes that his nose is now gushing with blood; thick, coppery, crimson liquid that stains his hands and leaves a salty, metallic taste in his mouth when a drop or two falls on his heavy tongue. It's gross but he's too fucked up to care, he's still drunk off his ass and he's going to feel the full effects of what's just happened when he wakes up but daybreak seems a million miles away right now.

He stumbles his way home, only stopping to throw up once. He's fairly good at holding his liqueur. When he does make it through the door, the first thing he notices is the fact that there's a light on and noise is coming from the living room and when he saunters through, he can't help but gasp.

He never expected to meet his third roommate like this. 

His hair is a gorgeous, indescribable shade that carries the colours of the galaxy in soft-looking locks. It's spread out around him like a technicolour halo and Luke's sure he's in love. The guy on the couch has pale, soft features, eyes closed, puffy lips. He's not asleep though -- god, Luke wishes he were asleep.

Instead, the gorgeous boy's got his jeans shoved down around his knees and holy shit, he's jerking off. 

When he realizes that Luke's just standing there, jaw dropped in complete and utter amazement, he nearly screams. He yanks his jeans up and Luke now has time to admire his eyes -- a beautiful shade of sea foam, somewhere between green and blue and they just make Luke want to drop to his knees right here and now. 

"Holy shit, dude! Fucking knock next ti-- fuck, your nose is bleeding." Luke's christened him Galaxy Boy (he can't remember what his name is, even though he's sure Calum told him) and right now, Galaxy Boy's leaping off the couch and Luke giggles drunkenly when he spots that he's got his fly undone. Within moments, Galaxy Boy's got him sat down on an armchair, straddling his lap while he presses a bag of peas to Luke's nose in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

"D-d'ya jerk off on the couch often, then?" Luke's pretty sure he's slurring but fuck it, he's got a really fucking attractive guy in his lap and hey, he's seen his dick. Galaxy Boy shakes his head, a bright blush forming on his cheeks. It's the color of blooming roses. (Luke wants to steal it from his cheeks and bottle it.)

"You weren't meant to see that. I'm Michael, by the way -- I mean, it's not like you're gonna remember anyway, but whatever." Michael waves a dismissive hand before slowly easing himself off Luke's lap, disappearing for a moment and taking the frozen peas with him. He returns with a warm, soapy cloth and a clean shirt.

"Strippin' me down already? Jesus, Mickey, you're eager."

"Michael. It's, uh, it's Michael." Luke's clearly too inebriated to remove his own shirt so Michael does it for him, a slow set of soft touches and quiet commands. Luke does as he's told and god, he's good timing -- Michael's backed off for a moment and his shirt's off, and he leans between his knees and throws up right on the floor. Even from the laundry, Michael's groan can be heard. 

"The carpet? Really? I'm gonna have to clean that now, thanks." He rolls his eyes before abandoning Luke for a moment, fixing his attention on the mess that has a distinct smell of vodka and something bitter. Luke's attitude has changed now -- since the release of the contents of his stomach, he's shrunk back inside himself. He's quieter now and as he curls up in his armchair, he's shaking and pale and maybe it's not just the alcohol that's gotten to him. It's shame -- he's ashamed of the way he threw up, made a mess in front of the angelic boy that's tending to him. He's fighting back tears by the time Michael's cleaned most of the vomit off the carpet.

"Hey, hey now. Don't cry, you're all good." He runs an encouraging hand through Luke's hair before once again straddling his lap, warm cloth in hand as he slowly cleans up all the dried, sticky blood that's flowed down his face, left rusted rivers down his neck, dripped underneath his shirt to leave maroon stains on his chest. Michael has to bite his lip when he runs the dripping cloth over Luke's nipple -- it's not like he can ignore the harsh intake of breath that the other boy sucks in.

"L-Luke, my name's Luke," he stutters out when Michael tucks a hand under his chin, tilts his head up to examine his skin. 

"I know, sweetie. Let's get you to bed."

*

Luke wakes up with a killer headache, an ache in his nose and a shirt that isn't his.

He sits up and everything goes blank for minute, his vision whites out in front of him. When things start appearing, he's aware of how much his nose hurts. He checks for blood -- none. He's got no recollection of the previous night until he glances over to see a scrappily-drawn note sitting atop the shirt he swore he was wearing last night. All it says is, "don't get into another fight, kid. -m" 

One memory blinks into existence in the back of his head -- galaxy-coloured lock, puffy lips, back arching, hips stuttering. Fuck, he watched his previously-unseen housemate jerk off. Nothing else from the night before is even vaguely memorable but that memory is sharp and clear, there's something about that sight that has Luke's blood boiling. 

When he glances down at his boxers, that distinct memory has clearly caused some other reactions, reactions he wasn't aware of until he had his hand stuck awkwardly into his boxers, sleepily pushing his hips up into his loosely-formed fist. He's oddly quiet this morning -- the weight of his hangover just isn't allowing for loud moans to fall from his lips. Instead, he lets sleepy gasps of air fill his lungs and when he comes with a flick of his wrist, he doesn't even cry out. He just lets the waves lick at his body, lets himself drown in the blogs that is a morning wank. All the while, that fucking picture is blazing behind his eyelids -- he can't stop thinking about Michael.

When he makes his way out of bed, sleep-rumpled and with pillow marks still lining his cheeks, Ashton just smirks and shoves a cup of steaming coffee at him.

"You just missed Michael," he chuckles before wiggling his eyebrows at Luke. It's like he can read minds.

"You never told me he was hot," Luke points an accusing, bony index finger at Ashton while he sips his tea, eyes narrowed.

"I didn't think he was your type! Shit, I didn't even know you were into dudes!" Ashton rolls his eyes before glancing at his phone, enormous hands swallowing the tiny device. Luke ducks his head, cheeks flushing a light pink.

"Uh, yeah. I-- yeah, that's pretty much it. Is, uh.." He waved a hand round as some sort of gesture.

"Is he into guys? Do I look like the walkin' Michael Clifford handbook? Ask him yourself," Ashton just shakes his head and announces that he's got a shower to attend to. Luke just sits there, curled up in the same armchair that he was in last night, confused out of his mind. To add to that, his nose still fucking aches and he's got no idea what exactly happened last night and god, why does his nose hurt so much? 

There are no possible answers that immediately pop into his mind -- only the disgustingly beautiful image of swirling galaxies spread out across leather, pale skin and sloppy hip thrusts. 

Luke really, really hates his head sometimes. (He's not thinking that at 10 PM at night, when he's rutting his hips against his mattress while he thinks about hands on his body, lips on his skin, words that set him on fire.)

Afterwards, when he's lying in his self-induced afterglow, he decides that he's going to try and make proper, sober contact with Michael. He's going to have a rational conversation, maybe about art and literature. He's not going to throw up, he's not going to be bleeding, and Michael isn't going to be jerking off on the couch.

Truth be told, Luke's plans and reality don't tend to match up a lot.


End file.
